The Lion, the Dwarves and the Hobbit
Chapter Two
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hobbit or any of the references to asoiaf/GoT culture.
When she came back in Bilbo was opening the door for a second dwarf. An older, and far shorter dwarf with thick white hair and a beard that was nearly long enough to tuck into his belt.
"Balin," he introduced, cheerily, giving a jaunty little bow, "At your service."
"Good evening," said Bilbo, a bit frostily.
"Yes, yes it is. Although I think it may rain later," said Balin glancing up at the sky. "Am I late?"
"Late for what, exactly?"
Balin unloaded his weapons next to Dwalin's axes but deigned to keep his coat on, and glanced consideringly down at her bare feet and Bilbo's before shaking his head a bit to himself and pointedly not divesting himself of his boots.
Ros wondered if that was a dwarf thing since the wooden floors of Bag End were clean and warm enough even for someone without a hobbit's thick-soled and well-furred feet.
"Balin, at your service lass," he said, offering her a bow, "Are you also here for the meeting?"
"Ros Lannister, at yours and your family's," replied Ros with a bow of her own, "And yes, I am—" she cut herself off before she could speak of business before dinner, and instead said, "I arrived with Dwalin, I believe he's in the kitchen."
"Not anymore," laughed Balin, eyes twinkling as he caught sight of the taller dwarf who was raiding the jar of cookies in the living room by the light of the fire there having trouble extracting them from an opening meant for smaller hobbit hands. "Evening brother."
Dwalin turned away from the cookies, setting them down on a side-table, and an actual smile came over his face. Ros had to blink a few times to be sure she'd seen things correctly, the dour companion of the past few hours had all but disappeared.
"By my beard, you're shorter and wider then when last we met," Dwalin said, clapping his brother fondly on the shoulder.
"Wider. Not shorter. And sharp enough for the both of us."
And then they did something that Ros had heard about but never witnessed herself and crashed their heads together like stubborn mountain rams as though it were the same as a warm hug or a buss on the cheek.
Ros and Bilbo both winced visibly but dwarves were made of sterner stuff than little hobbits or skinny daughters of the race of man and they just laughed at their expressions and pounded warmly on each other.
Bilbo tried to gather himself, "Um, excuse me; sorry, hate to interrupt, ah, but the thing is I am not entirely certain you're in the right house," he said.
He was promptly ignored, of course, and Ros was beginning to wonder what exactly Gandalf had said that had them ignoring Bilbo's demands for explanations about who had sent them, although she did understand that the why of the thing could be construed as speaking of business before dinner.
"Have you eaten?" asked Dwalin.
"Had a bit of a nibble down at the inn since I wasn't sure what kind of fare would be available," Balin answered.
Dwalin grunted, but it was a pleasant sort of laughing grunt, "If there's one thing you can say for the shirelings they know their food. Come on, this way, we'll get you seconds."
Perhaps, she thought, following Balin and Dwalin down the hall and into a rather large pantry, the dwarves enjoyed watching Bilbo sputter and stutter and flit around in confusion and distress.
And while it was distinctly amusing, even to Ros who didn't actually approve of this kind of hazing, she did feel rather sorry for the hobbit.
"It's not that I don't like visitors," Bilbo was huffing out, as though someone had accused him of unsociability, "I-I like visitors as much as the next hobbit. However, I do prefer to know them before them come, um, visiting!"
"Ah, that looks very nice indeed," said Balin, gesturing to a cured ham the size of Ros' torso, completely ignoring Bilbo.
"Leave it for the moment, here have a roll," said Dwalin rummaging, "We'll carve it up and set it out for the rest once we get a table set up. Catch lass," he added to Ros tossing another roll and a late summer pear over his shoulder at her.
Balin picked up a small wheel of soft cheese wrapped in waxed paper, examining it with a pinched face.
"What's that?"
"I don't know, I think it's meant to be some kind of cheese," said Balin.
"The thing is, um—" Bilbo tried again.
"It's gone blue," Dwalin pointed out pulling a revolted face.
"It's riddled with mould," agreed Balin.
"It's meant to look like that," Ros said, tearing through her roll, suddenly ravenous after days of only hardtack and stale meatrolls for meals, "It's called blue cheese and it's meant to be a kind of a delicacy even if it is an acquired taste. Just leave it aside if you don't want it," she added when it looked like Dwalin was just going to pitch it wherever.
Dwalin grunted, but grudgingly put it up on the highest shelf.
"The thing is," Bilbo persisted, "I don't know any of you. Not in the slightest. I don't mean to be blunt, especially not with guests, but, well, I had to speak my mind. I'm sorry."
Balin and Dwalin froze, apparently finally acknowledging Bilbo's words and turned to look at the hobbit, who apparently was thinking better of speaking at all.
"Hm," said Balin with a nod and a smile, "Apology accepted. Come now, brother," the older dwarf added, turning back to Dwalin who had found the tankards in the cupboards above the ale keg, "Fill it up now, don't stint!"
Bilbo made a frustrated noise through his nose and Ros couldn't help but laugh a bit, nudging him slightly.
"Now don't make that sour face, Mister Baggins," she teased, "Relax a bit, have fun, surely we're not such terrible guests?"
"No, no, no," Bilbo said, flailing visibly, "Not as such, and I don't mean any offense Miss Lannister, truly, but, i-it's just—"
He trailed off gesturing illustratively at Balin and Dwalin, who'd helped themselves to ales and deviled eggs and a jar of pickles and some cheese that was not blue.
"This is most irregular," he puffed out finally.
Ros hummed an agreement, "True, but if you relax a bit you'll enjoy yourself, trust me. And if it's about the expense of the food, I have some coin to start out with and I will cover the rest when I can. A Lannister always pays her debts."
Bilbo immediately became another two parts apologetic and a half-part ruffled indignation, fluttering his hands at her illustratively.
"No, no, no, I couldn't possibly—certainly not of a lady!—that is quite unnecessary Miss Lannister, do put it from your mind. I apologize, I've been quite unforgivably inhospitable. Come into the kitchen, I'll put on a pot of tea if you don't care for ale or I have several good vintages of wine."
"Tea would be lovely, thank you Mister Baggins."
Dwalin and Balin both made somewhat impressed faces at her and, feeling daring, Ros threw them a saucy wink in reply, letting Bilbo shuffle her along and install her at the kitchen table with a plate of the cookies Dwalin had been trying to get at earlier.
"Fiddlesticks," sighed Bilbo, bustling around putting the kettle on and scrounging up a half-loaf of fresh crusty bread and a bowl of ripe strawberries, producing cream, sugar, honey, a plate of chilled sandwich meat seemingly out of nowhere, "I don't like being caught this unprepared," he confessed, as though she hadn't already gathered as much, "Especially with new acquaintances, it's quite troubling, I can't decide whether I'm more worried that your dwarf friends will devour the entire contents of my pantry or that there won't be enough to feed them properly."
"Well, I don't think they'll mind all the same, I just met them actually but they seem like a versatile bunch and it seems they'll help themselves to whatever they like, no worries about that!"
"Really, you just met? How did you all come to be invited to my house? And of course, they seem happy enough but that's not the point! I am a Baggins, and a hobbit of the Shire, I have a reputation to uphold, why if this got out, no, no, it simply doesn't bear thinking on," Bilbo sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose and giving himself a little shake, "In any case we'll just have to make do, it's far too late to start cooking anything after all, and I don't have anything suitable for a dessert course—"
The bell rang through the house again, and Bilbo's brow furrowed almost comically, "And just how many dwarves are coming anyway?" he complained even as he went to the door, tossing his dressing gown over the back of an armchair and tucking in the billowy linen of his striped shirt.
Ros let him grumble and fret, taking a large hunk of bread with the fresh churned butter and the raspberry compote and trying not to moan at the rich flavour. It seemed like forever since she'd had a meal that wasn't stew or journey rations on the road. Even longer since she'd had meat—her stolen longbow had been broken a year ago when she encountered bandits on the road to Foronost and she hadn't been able to replace it— and the fresh fruit, sweets, and butter were pure paradise, she hadn't had any of that since she'd become a dragon's princess.
Ros grabbed another slice from the platter of cold-cuts, and wandered over to the door to see who had turned up out of the company of dwarves. Gandalf had told her a bit about who he was expecting while they were on the road, not a lot mind, the wizard had been infuriatingly cryptic, scooping her out of the forest and singing songs about putting her knowledge and talents to good use, helping claim back a homeland. Pushing all the right buttons and cutting right through her resolve to just remove herself from the world as much as possible. Forcing her to take yet another name, and hope, that this time it stuck.
The two dwarves bracketed by the round entrance to Bag End were young for dwarves, that much even Ros—who hadn't had much exposure to them—could tell, their faces were both smooth and handsome without any of the weathered crags of age and mountain exposure, the taller dark haired one didn't have more than a thick stubble on his chin just yet, and the shorter one seemed only a little older for all that he had a full beard and a complex array of braids in his thick blond hair.
"Fíli," said the blond.
"And Kíli," added his companion.
"At your service," they said in unison, bowing.
Ros smiled a bit around a mouthful of chicken, they looked nothing alike at first glance, but from their manner it was clear that they were brothers. Ros might have even guessed they were twins if it wasn't for the difference in beard lengths.
"You must be Mister Boggins," said the younger of the two, eagerly, a wide easy grin stretching his mouth.
Ros almost expected him to snatch Bilbo's hand and start pumping it enthusiastically, though she was sure that hand shaking was not actually a customary greeting in Middle Earth.
"Certainly not," replied Bilbo, a twitch of his lips betraying him, as it seemed he was ready to get a little payback for being on the receiving end of confusion all evening.
"You're not?"
"No one by the name of Boggins lives here, I can safely assure you."
"But, the rune! This must be the right house!" insisted Kíli, "Has it been cancelled?"
"No one told us," frowned Fíli, peering at Bilbo suspiciously.
"No, nothing's been cancelled," chuckled Bilbo, "But my name is not Boggins, but Baggins. Bilbo Baggins, at your service. At least you two scamps should remember the name of the person you're infringing upon, don't you think?"
Kíli looked a bit stricken, but his brother seemed to realise that Bilbo was mostly teasing and offered him an even more elaborate bow, "My sincerest apologies Mister Baggins, a most grievous and ungallant error. Please excuse my brother, we meant to offer no insult upon either your most esteemed personage or your lovely dwelling."
Kíli looked at his brother like he'd grown a second head for a moment before giving a shrug, another blinding grin, and adding, "And mine as well, esteemed Master Hobbit. If I have offered you insult and offense I will throw myself at your feet and beg your pardon."
Bilbo chuckled, blushing a bit in the tips of his ears, "Oh, tosh, now that's quite enough of that," he said swinging the door open, "I've taken no offense and you've given none, as well you know, you infuriatingly charming rapscallions. There's a foot brush to your left there, make use of it if you please so that you're not tracking mud all through the place. I know how silly you dwarves get about your shoes."
Obediently Fíli and Kíli made somewhat dubious use of the stiff bristles of the brush to get the worst of the mud off their boots and made their way into Bag End, Kíli stripping off his weapons—a small recurve bow, a hunting knife and a short sword that put Ros in mind of a Roman gladius— with eagerness, handing them to Bilbo without compunction and promptly disappearing into the depths of the house.
Fíli had rather more weapons. Rather a lot more. He had more knifes of every possible size, shape and description hidden on his person then Ros had ever seen in one place and it seemed Bilbo was just as wide-eyed about the sudden deluge of sharp implements piled into his arms.
"Careful with those, I just had 'em sharpened," Fíli said as he pulled out the last one and settled it on the top of the pile.
Ros wasn't sure if that was a warning made out of concern for Bilbo or the weapons themselves, but Bilbo cast around for a safe place to put them nonetheless.
"This is a really nice place," Kíli complimented, "Did you do it yourself?"
"No, uh, it's been in the family for years. Great-grandpa Belbo built it for his future wife as a courting gift to lure her away from her other suitor Poppin Took, or so the story goes."
Kíli goggled a bit at the house, looking impressed, "Bit large and extravagant for just a courting gift, he must have loved her very much."
"Oh, yes, well, their romance was the talk of the Shire for a bit, Old Cotton's daughters still tell the tale any chance they get hoping that their own suitors will take the hint."
"And are you the estimable Mistress Baggins then?" asked Fíli, turning to Ros, who'd been slumped against the entranceway to the living room watching the proceedings with amusement.
"Not hardly," said Ros, flushing a bit as the older brother flashed her a teasing grin, "Ros Lannister, at your service. I was called for the meeting."
"A great pleasure, Miss Lannister. My brother and I are the service of you and your family," he said with a bow.
"Fíli, Kíli, don't just stand around yammering, come help us with this," called Dwalin.
"Mister Dwalin!" exclaimed Kíli sounding pleased and allowing himself to be led into the dining room.
"We'll need to shove this into the hallway or we'll never get everyone in," Balin insisted, gesturing at Bilbo's dining table and chairs, which, although long, was only meant to seat eight spaciously or ten with a bit of a squidge.
Fili and Dwalin managed to wrestle the table into place without too much difficulty while their brothers dealt with the chairs.
"Just how many more of you are there?" demanded Bilbo, a bit wide-eyed as the dwarves began hunting for more sit-upons, "N-no, no. Those are Granpa Mungo's dining chairs, their antiques and not for sitting on! I'll get the chairs from the guest bedroom."
"Don't trouble yourself, lad, Kíli will fetch them out," said Balin.
Bilbo made a worried noise but left them to it wringing his hands.
"Relax Mister Baggins," Ros insisted, "Come on let's get you a cup of tea."
The two of them retreated to the kitchen and left the dwarves to their own devices, since Bilbo looked like he might get twitchy again.
"Miss Lannister, just how many dwarves am I to be hosting tonight?"
"Ros is fine," she insisted gently buttering a hunk of bread and putting a slice of cold meat on top of it, pushing it into Bilbo's hands, "And I believe there are thirteen."
The hobbit made a wounded noise and shoved the food in his mouth without paying too much attention, as she'd intended, picking up another bit and devouring it with equal vigor.
"Thirteen dwarves," he said between mouthfuls, "What clothead decided that sending me thirteen dwarves and one woman was a good practical joke? I have to say in my opinion it is in very poor taste!"
The doorbell rang again.
"Botheration!"
Ros takes the whistling kettle off the fire gingerly, craning her neck to see what is going on, and when Bilbo throws the door of Bag End open for a fourth time a whole heap of dwarves came tumbling into the foyer grumbling at each other to 'Get off!' and the grey wizard was behind them, if Bilbo's short, and distinctly annoyed grumbled of: "Gandalf, I might have known," was anything to go by.
For the next quarter hour or so Ros was very glad she'd retreated into the kitchen, because the whole of Bag End descended into raucous chaos. The dwarves that passed through offered her bows and their service and there was a whole armoury piled in the front room, and they milled about exchanging greetings and ale and plates of food.
The only one Ros could say for sure she could pick out of the crowd would be Dori, whose elaborate braids and light hair were incredibly distinctive and who'd joined her for a moment as he waited for the kettle to boil again and prepared a second pot of tea, this one a lovely chamomile. Making carefully choreographed small talk about tea, the weather, and the state of the roads that made Ros feel like she was in an Austen novel.
Bilbo was getting more riled as the party wore on, and Ros wasn't about to brave the milling press of bodies to drag him out of his funk.
"Isn't that a tad excessive," she heard him ask, exasperated, and then worriedly inquiring, "Have you got a cheese knife?"
"Cheese knife," replied another dwarf, loudly, "He eats it by the block."
Ros caught a glimpse of the rotund dwarf with the long, red beard carrying three wheels of cheese to his spot at the far end of the table, and found herself agreeing with Bilbo. That was definitely excessive. Even her cheese-crazy step-mother would have said so. It was really no wonder he was so large.
Gandalf appeared in the kitchen, hunched slightly as he endeavoured not to knock his head on any of the low-hanging light fixtures. He had the little glass Dori had fetched out for him pinched between his thumb and forefinger and was casting around the clutter of the kitchen.
Getting up Ros poured him a more, well, man-sized portion and he gave her a fond smile.
"Ah, Ros, my thanks. I'm afraid the trouble with dwarves is that they take things very literally. Will you not join us in the hall?"
"No thank, you Gandalf," said Ros, "It's looking a bit crowded and messy in there for my taste, and I've just finished off more than my fair share of strawberries dipped in pastry cream and rolled in sugar."
Gandalf threw a glance at the empty bowls and chuckled, "A feat, to be sure. Do try and be social, my dear, if I have my way you'll be travelling with these dwarves quite a ways."
A rousing shout went up from the hallway and Ros wondered if Bilbo's neighbours would call for whatever passed for the police to complain about the noise.
One of the dwarves, the one who reminded Ros of a wolf and who had the head of an axe sticking out of his head, grumbled something in the rumbling dwarf language to Gandalf, making motions with his hands and body that looked to be some kind of sign language.
"Yes, yes, you're quite right Bifur," answered Gandalf, sipping his wine. "We appear to be one dwarf short."
"He is just late is all," said Dwalin, tongue loosened and gruffness mellowed out by ale, good food and better company, "He traveled north to a meeting of our kin. He will come."
Bifur said something else that Ros had no hope of understanding and started rooting around in the kitchen meandering out to the water pump and back and starting to clear away her dishes, shooing her gruffly out of his way.
Ros retreated to the other room where Bilbo was snatching a bit fabric from one of the dwarves, all his former calm gone.
"That is a doily, not a dishcloth!" he declared.
"But it's full of holes," said another dwarf, this one in a hat with wide flaps, propping up a wall and munching on an apple.
"It's supposed to look like that, it's crochet."
"And a wonderful game it is too," said the dwarf with a sly smile, "If you've got the balls for it."
Ros couldn't help but snicker, it had been what seemed like an age since she'd heard a dirty joke.
"Oh and the lady is amused," crowed the dwarf, doffing his hat to her briefly and waggling his eyebrows, "Not such a lady then, I'll wager."
"Enough of that Bofur," scolded Dori, rounding the corner with his empty tea service. "Do excuse him Miss Lannister, this one is completely incapable of keeping a civil tongue."
Bofur didn't seemed put out by Dori's disapproval, on the contrary, it seemed to delight him.
"Bother and confusticate these dwarves!" Bilbo said, throwing his hands up and throwing himself down into the nearest armchair.
"I thought you were getting used to them," said Ros, amused.
"I thought so too but there are just so many of them and I don't understand what they're doing in my house," groaned Bilbo, "I should be patient with guests, I know—"
"Now my dear Bilbo, what on earth is the matter?" asked Gandalf, blue eyes twinkling merrily.
"You!" Bilbo said pointing an imperious finger at the wizard, "I don't know what you think you're doing inviting all these dwarves into my home without so much as a word or a by-your-leave, but as you have and as it is my house I would not be opposed to knowing just what they are doing here!"
"Excuse me," said one of the younger dwarves, this one was in a loose-fitting cardigan and knitted fingerless gloves, "Sorry to interrupt, but what do I do with my plate?"
"Here, Ori, give it to me," said Fíli, snatching the dish in question out of his hands and tossing it over his shoulder.
Ros was alarmed for a second but Kíli caught the dish easily and threw it into the kitchen where Bifur was standing at the sink. The wolf-like dwarf caught the plate without looking and all they could do was watch wide-eyed as the other dwarves took it as their cue to send yet more empty dishes flying and tumbling through the air, keeping them off the floor in a show of careless coordination that was as worrying as it was impressive.
"Hmm," puffed Gandalf hastily jerking his nose out of the way as two bowls a plate and a goblet whizzed through the smoke of his pipe, just barely missing the end of his long nose.
"Excuse me!" cried Bilbo, leaping from his chair flustered and indignant, "That is my mother's West Farthing crockery, it's over a hundred years old!"
The dwarves began to drum on the table with the ends of their utensils and stomp the floor with their boots rhythmically, patently unconcerned by Bilbo's cries and occasionally clanking the metal ends together for a scraping counterpoint.
It was actually quite good music, Ros found herself thinking, for not having any instruments.
"Can-can you not do that, you'll blunt them!"
"Oh ho, do y'hear that lads?" said Bofur, recognizable as much from the shit-disturbing tone of voice as the hat, "He says we'll blunt the knives."
"Blunt the knives, bend the forks," sang Kíli, still relaying dishes down the hall.
"Smash the bottles and burn the corks," sang Fíli.
"Chip the glasses and crack the plates
That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!" chimed in the rest of the dwarves.
And they continued to sing—and throw dishware with abandon—apparently making the verses up on the spot, although no one seemed to be confused about what the words were to be. Bofur produced a flute from somewhere, helping dishes along with flaps of his chicken elbows while the rotund dwarf, Bommer? Maybe? Was saddled with whatever scraps had been left on the plates and platters.
The amazing thing was of course that they didn't lose the rhythm of it, even Ori, who wasn't joining in the tossing but was carrying a tall stack of dishes the, well, more normal way, seemed to have a natural idea about where everything was going to end up avoiding getting in the way of the delicate operation.
"That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!"
And when that last rousing line was cried out all the dishes, the whole set, were not only intact at the end of their journey, but sparkling clean and neatly stacked, and all the dwarves were laughing merrily at Bilbo's—and probably her own—openly awed expression. Even Gandalf was chortling around the end of his pipe.
And of course that was when three, slightly ominous, pounding knocks, came from the door. And the roaring company of dwarves fell instantly quiet.
"Ah, he's here," said Gandalf.
Khuzdul:
Shazara - silence
Du bekar - to arms!
AN: And there you have it folks, hope you like :) As always questions, comments, suggestions, and feedback is more than welcome, I love hearing from you guys!
